Author's notes:
I can never thank beta reader/critique partner extraordinaire Sue Shay enough! Her time and expertise are invaluable, and I appreciate her willingness to share them. Have you checked out the big events in Sue's current Teresa-and-Patrick project, "Ready or Not"? Her latest post, Chapter 43, contains some of the finest laugh-out-loud humor that she's ever written. (And anyone who's read her collected works knows about Sue's deft touch with humor!) Check out the whole story.
I do not own the TV show The Mentalist and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.
Notes on the chapter title and a certain automobile follow the end of the chapter.
Chapter 8: On The Sunny Side Of The Street
As Patrick approached Teresa's room, he could see the back of a man standing by her bed, someone he didn't recognize. He quickened his pace just as the visitor shifted position. Upon seeing his collar, Patrick relaxed. The visitor was a gray-haired, slightly stooped man wearing full priestly garb.
When Teresa saw Patrick, her eyes lit up in greeting. She raised her bed to a full upright position and extended her hand for him to come beside her.
"There you are, Patrick! I was hoping you would come by while the Father was here," she said as she grasped his arm. Patrick felt her give a little extra hug to his arm which he reciprocated with a pat on her shoulder.
The priest turned to face Patrick.
"So you're Patrick Jane!" he said with a big smile as he extended his hand. "I'm Father Macario McIlwee from Teresa's church, St. Michael's. I'm glad to finally meet you. Teresa has told me about you."
"Glad to meet you too, Father," said Patrick as they shook hands. He wondered what exactly Teresa had told the priest about him.
"I've enjoyed my conversation with Teresa, although I fear I'm part of the long list of people that she's reacquainting herself with."
"Father McIlwee told me that I attend his mass regularly," Teresa said.
"I would expect that, Teresa. You've shared with me many times about the importance of your faith to you."
At that moment, a commotion by the doorway attracted their attention. Dr. Suchman and a nurse walked in.
"How's my favorite patient today?" the doctor asked. "I hate to interrupt, but we need to do a quick exam."
Father McIlwee motioned for Patrick to step outside the room. They excused themselves and moved to the hallway. Once outside, Patrick noticed that a look of unease came over the priest's face.
"Mr. Jane, this is new for me. I've ministered to parishioners who've had many illnesses, but never amnesia. This is hard enough for me to deal with, I can't imagine what it's like for someone she's really close to like you."
Just what exactly has Teresa told Father McIlwee about me?
"It's been a challenge," Patrick said. "So, how long have you known Teresa?"
"She's come to mass for several years now. We talk frequently, and you might say I have an affinity for those who serve in law enforcement."
"How so?"
Father McIlwee laughed.
"I'm the only one in my family who didn't become a cop. My father walked a beat in Boston, my mother worked as a dispatcher, and I have three brothers and two sisters on police forces scattered across New England. I started to become a cop myself but felt another calling so I reversed course to go to seminary. You might say my siblings regard me as the black sheep of our family. Anyway, I was steeped in police culture from birth."
Patrick chuckled to himself. The two of them were similar. Father McIlwee was to the police world what he himself was to the carnie world - an outsider with an insider's appreciation.
"So, what's your assessment of Teresa?" Patrick asked.
"I talked with her for twenty minutes. I saw glimpses of her old sparkle, her decisiveness, even hints of her leadership ability, that's a good sign," Father McIlwee said.
"I agree."
"But there's a lot she's unsure of about herself and her surroundings. It appears though that her faith is intact."
"Yes, I've noticed Teresa fingering her crucifix more than usual since the attack."
Father McIlwee sighed.
"I worry about her, how she'll adjust when she leaves the hospital. There's a certain shelter here, a kind of refuge from what's outside. Just think about her going home. She'll have to face a world that's foreign to her."
Patrick had thought about that very subject, long and hard. At the same moment, he heard a snippet of the conversation between Teresa and Dr. Suchman. With a promise to keep in touch, he bid goodbye to Father McIlwee and reentered the hospital room.
Dr. Suchman had impressed Teresa as a caring person, someone she could rely on to build up her spirits. The news she brought with her on her latest visit unsettled Teresa though.
"We'll release you tomorrow, Teresa," Dr. Suchman said as she glanced over the latest test results.
"I'll go home?" Teresa asked as she reached up a finger to her crucifix.
"There's only so much we can do for you here. I still want to see you on a regular basis, and I want you to begin a program of reacquainting yourself with your life. What I hope is that when you see elements of your daily life it will trigger your memory."
"But I can't do that on my own."
"Indeed. Agent Wainwright told me that he would assign a security detail for you while they search for your attacker, but I recommend that you let someone close to you serve as your guide. Someone who knows you and can spend some time with you as you get to know your world again. It doesn't have to be 24/7, but the person needs to be someone you trust. Do you have family nearby?"
Teresa knew from her talk with Van Pelt that her family was far-flung, and her stomach churned at the thought of being alone.
"Dr. Suchman, my family is all…" Teresa started to speak but lost her words, looking for what to say.
"What Teresa wants to say, Dr. Suchman, is that her family isn't from around here. Not to worry though, I'll take care of her. I can handle that and my duties at CBI."
Teresa looked up at Patrick as he came back in the room, his confident smile melting her fear of the wider world away.
"I don't want to impose on you, Patrick," she said and immediately cursed to herself that she should have simply kept her mouth shut.
"Nonsense! I'm looking forward to it. We'll reconstruct your memory. Well, except for those times when you wanted to punch me in the nose."
Patrick's good spirit was contagious. She and Dr. Suchman both laughed.
"That sounds like a good plan, Mr. Jane, although that punching in the nose thing may be a part of the recovery process for her." Dr. Suchman said.
"It'll be worth it, just as long as she doesn't hit too hard." Patrick winked at Teresa.
There's a lot worse things than taking Patrick Jane home with you. It was then that Teresa noticed that the churning in her stomach had changed to flutters of delight.
The next morning, in the bright sunshine of a new day, Patrick and Teresa walked out to the pick-up zone of the hospital parking lot. Despite his protests, she had refused the customary ride in a wheel chair. On top of that Teresa told her nurse and Patrick that she'd carry her own suitcase, thank you very much.
When she saw where they were going, Teresa froze as her mouth dropped open.
"This is yours, Patrick?"
Teresa couldn't believe what sat in front of her. She shifted her gaze from the car to Patrick and back to the car trying to reconcile the two.
"Yes, it's mine," he said.
"It looks like a blue turtle squatting on the asphalt."
Patrick laughed.
"I can tell by the tone of your voice that it shocks you. Well, you're consistent with yourself. The first time the old Lisbon saw this she had the same reaction."
"This runs?" she said as they exchanged smiles. While she had no specific memories of Patrick's car or riding with him, their shared banter felt right, something that filled her with joy.
"Yes, it does. You've ridden in it many times."
"It looks different from what I pictured you would drive."
"What did you think I'd drive?"
"I thought…I'm not sure. I just didn't picture you driving something like this."
"It's a Citroën DS."
"Is Citroen a synonym for 'bucket of bolts'?"
"Ha, ha. You and I have found a lot of humor about this car over the years. You complain, I defend, we laugh."
What a pleasant idea! A vivid image filled her mind - the two of them driving alone on a long trip, sharing private words and thoughts. Teresa could picture the windows rolled down, a breeze rustling through Patrick's hair, and a view of the ocean stretching out in front of them.
Patrick's hand nudging hers interrupted her thoughts. Did he want to hold her hand? The idea seemed a bit forward of him, but she was grasping her suitcase in that hand. Oh! Now she understood. With another gentle nudge from him, Teresa released her grip and Patrick took the suitcase from her, placing it in the backseat. Then he opened the passenger door and gave an exaggerated bow.
"Madam, your seat," he said with a sweeping gesture.
"Are you sure you don't need me running behind it to push while you steer?"
"Hush, Teresa." He pointed to the car seat to prompt her to sit down.
"Thank you, Patrick. I suppose if I've survived a ride in the Blue Turtle before, I'll survive this time as well."
"That's the spirit my dear!" he said as he closed the door for her.
Once underway Teresa spent her time looking around at the sights. Driving through the city unnerved her. As block after block of buildings passed by, they all blurred together.
"Recognize anything, Teresa?"
"Nothing."
"On the way to your condo I need to stop by my place to pick up some things."
"So, we're going where you live first?"
"Such as it is. I have a room at a long-term-stay motel. But I do a lot of my living at the CBI building, particularly the attic there."
"You sleep in the attic where we work?"
"Often, especially when I'm focused on something like a current case or Red John."
"You really are a strange man, Patrick Jane."
Patrick laughed.
"And I'm grateful to both the new you and the old you for accepting that."
"I think it's refreshing. You go your own way."
"And when I've gone my own way it's often ended up that you and I are at loggerheads."
"Loggerheads?"
Patrick stared at Teresa.
"There's my old Lisbon peeking through again!" he said as his voice rose.
"What?
"You just rolled your eyes at something I said. Just like the old you."
"So what you're saying is that you're heartened when I don't approve of something about you."
"I'll take what I can get."
"Maybe it means I care."
Patrick's face softened as he let out a deep sigh.
"For that I'm especially grateful, Teresa."
What Teresa found when they entered Patrick's motel room shocked her. It wasn't so much what she saw as what she didn't see. The room looked almost vacant. His personal belongings took up only part of the table tops in the room - a few books, some writing materials, and pictures. Most of his things were on a cheap nightstand by the bed.
"I need to get a few clothes. It'll be just a minute."
From the closet Patrick retrieved a suitcase which he set out on the single bed in the room. Teresa saw him sort through items in a drawer; some he put in the suitcase, some he left. While he busied himself by the drawer, Teresa walked over to the closet. She gasped when she looked inside. Lined up neatly on hangers were a row of three-piece suits, just like the ones that Patrick had worn ever since she had first seen him in the forest. Beyond the suits were several shirts, many in laundry wrappers. The sight shocked her - not because she saw anything deviant, but because it all seemed so…austere. This man had boiled his life down to the barest of essentials, nothing more than the minimum required.
Patrick's brushing past roused Teresa from her thoughts. Now he was standing beside her, looking at that same endless line of suits and shirts. Reaching around her, he plucked several items to lay beside his suitcase. Returning once more, he picked up a lone gray shirt to inspect. He groaned.
"The collar on this shirt is getting a little frayed. I probably should get rid of it, but for now it's coming with me. This old shirt has been with me a long time."
Teresa looked at the shirt as well. It didn't look that bad to her…
When Patrick nosed his car through the entrance to the condominium complex where Teresa lived, she snapped to attention. As she gave a 360-degree scan to the buildings and streets, something caught her eye. It was brief, and she suspected that her mind might be playing tricks on her. Nevertheless, she mentioned it to Patrick.
"I thought I just saw Luther Wainwright driving a car out of here."
"Huh. Maybe he just came by to check on your security setup."
"What kind of security am I gonna get, Patrick?"
"He told me an agent will be stationed outside your condo 24/7 as long as your attacker is at large. What that means in practice is that he will rotate a string of junior agents for the job, ones who haven't received a permanent assignment yet."
"Are they competent?"
Patrick laughed.
"My own personal knee-jerk reaction, what I would say to the old Lisbon, is that no CBI agents other than you and your team were competent. That would be a flippant answer; the reality is that the agents on the detail will have all been through training. They're still green, but they're good. Many have been local police officers before coming to CBI. That's how you came to CBI. From San Francisco PD. Ah, here we are."
Patrick wheeled into a parking place. When he shut off the engine, Teresa reached over to pat his arm.
"I survived the trip in the Blue Turtle after all, and I didn't even have to get out to push!" she said. Patrick said nothing, but the way his eyes crinkled with amusement charmed Teresa.
When they got inside, her condo made her think back to Patrick's hotel room. His place had been spartan, but hers didn't feel that much more homey. It impressed her as the kind of comfortable place where an unmarried professional like herself would live. Yet it still looked like an afterthought, a home because she had to have one, not a home that she spent a lot of time in.
Patrick motioned for Teresa to take a seat.
"I need to go back to the car to get my things. Well, how does your condo look to you?"
"Nothing familiar, but I can tell something about both you and me," she replied.
"What's that?"
"Our homes are mostly just addresses, not really a lot of living going on in either one." That brought a nod of agreement from him.
Patrick retrieved his things from the car to put in the guest bedroom. As he came through the living room he held the gray shirt away from the rest of his clothes and inspected it closely. He frowned.
"I'm thinking I need to get rid of this. Shouldn't have even brought it over."
Teresa looked first at Patrick, then at the shirt.
"Why don't you get settled in, I'll take care of the shirt."
"You don't mind, Teresa?"
"Run along. Leave it with me."
Patrick dropped the shirt on the sofa and then took the rest of his belongings to his bedroom. Once he had shut the door, Teresa picked up the gray shirt and went to her own bedroom.
After a half-hour on their own, the two of them converged on the kitchen.
"Let's see what's on hand food-wise, Teresa."
"Yeah. You take the frige, I'll take the pantry. We'll see what's on hand and what we'll need to get."
Teresa opened the pantry to scan the shelves, but Patrick interrupted her. It wasn't something he did; rather, what he didn't do.
Why is he just standing there?
When she turned to look at him, a grin greeted her.
"What?" she asked.
Patrick said nothing.
"What?" she repeated.
He chuckled.
"Your memory may not be back, but take-charge Teresa is! You've made progress."
"Good. Now get moving," she said as she swatted his arm with an unopened bag of paper towels.
Teresa and Patrick busied themselves with their inventory of what was on hand.
"There's hardly anything here," Teresa said.
She turned to see Patrick standing in front of an open cabinet holding a plastic bag. Even without the grimace on his face, she could tell he disapproved of what was in the bag. His hand held it away from his body like it contained leaking toxic waste.
"In all the years I've known you, Teresa, I'd never thought you'd eat this," Jane said as he wrinkled his nose. He handed the bag to her still keeping it at arm's length.
The wrapper on the bag said, "Food technology breakthrough! If you like crackers, if you like cheese, if you garlic, if you like all three great tastes together, you'll love our new Chracker Drips! We inject molten processed cheese accented with synthetic garlic powder into every super-inflated cracker. Just wait until you bite into one and taste the cheese ooze out of it and onto your tongue! Available in regular, fun-size, and family-size bags! Remember, eat responsibly."
"You're right. That's disgusting. I don't see how I'd ever want to eat crap-filled crackers," Teresa said as she dropped it into the garbage can.
It was the end of a long day. Patrick had gotten ready for bed, putting on his pajamas and bathrobe. Wanting a glass of milk from the kitchen, he walked past Teresa's master bedroom and heard the shower running inside. At this late hour, he figured that she would retire and he'd have the place to himself. Taking his glass into the living room, he turned on the TV. Clicking the remote control he at last came to the old movie channel.
Patrick settled back to watch one of his favorites when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Looking up he saw Teresa, clad only in a towel. Drops of water cascaded down from her hair onto her face and shoulders. Dampness caused the towel to cling to her, showing off every curve of her body.
The expression on her face told him that something distressed her.
"What's this, Patrick?"
Author's notes:
Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields wrote "On the Sunny Side of the Street" in 1930, and artists from Ella Fitzgerald to Cyndi Lauper have recorded it. My favorite version though comes from Willie Nelson's 1978 album Stardust. The title and tone of the song apply to the chapter, and Mr. Nelson's laid-back style fits with the events in Teresa Lisbon's life.
According to Wikipedia, the Citroen used on the show is "eggshell blue." Do you wonder what Patrick Jane himself feels about his Blue Turtle? Sue Shay and I co-authored a story titled "Driven Beauty" that explores a particular (or peculiar?) relationship in Patrick's life. Readers can find it under Sue Shay's author profile or in my favorites list.